


Never Enough, Always More Than

by megxmas



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 5+1, 5+1 Things, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Infidelity (not Sterek), Insecure Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Slash, Stiles Stilinski Has Low Self-Esteem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-15
Updated: 2015-07-15
Packaged: 2018-04-09 09:52:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4343930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megxmas/pseuds/megxmas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>5 Times Stiles Wasn’t Good Enough, and 1 Time He Stopped Caring</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Enough, Always More Than

**Author's Note:**

> Titles, as always, are impossible.

(1)

Stiles is four when he meets Lydia. She’s got pretty round eyes and pretty red hair and a pretty smile and while Stiles can’t come up with many adjectives beyond ‘pretty’, he knows that she’s probably the loveliest girl alive.

‘No, wait, ‘cept you, Mama,’ he adds quickly, when he’s telling Claudia all about her. ‘You’re the prettiest girl in the world!’

His mama laughs and kisses him on the cheek, and says, ‘Well, it’s sure lucky I got me the handsomest son in the world, isn’t it?’ and Stiles giggles and wraps his arms around her neck, and lets himself be lifted, even if he is getting a bit too big for carrying.

‘Mama, do you think Lydia thinks I’m handsome?’ he asks as she carries him to the car.

‘It’d be very silly of her not to!’ she answers, before saying ‘Though if she doesn’t, don’t you worry, ‘cos you’ll always have me!’

Stiles laughs, hugs his mama tighter, and spends the rest of the day talking about the second prettiest girl in the world.

-

Lydia doesn’t really notice him, though. Stiles huffs about it, asks his papa how you get girls to like you, but he doesn’t really get an answer. His papa just laughs and rubs at his hair, and says ‘You’ll have plenty of time for girls when you’re older, kiddo.’

Which isn’t fair, because Stiles likes Lydia _now,_ and he doesn’t really want to wait for years before he can hold her hand in the playground.

Lydia doesn’t really play with boys much though, so at least she isn’t holding hands with anyone else.

When Stiles’ mama and papa are planning his fifth birthday party, he pulls at his mama’s skirt and says, ‘Can we invite Lydia, mama, please?’

And his mama laughs and says, ‘She’s in your class, isn’t she?’

And Stiles nearly actually jumps for joy, because that means Stiles will have to go and talk to her, and she’ll have to talk to him, and then maybe they’ll get to hold hands!

He’s so nervous when he does, though, can’t really speak properly, even though he asked his papa what to say and he’d spent ages practising. What comes out is a shaky ‘Come to my party?’ and Stiles is kinda mad at himself because it was gonna be better. But Lydia takes the invitation and says ‘Maybe,’ and it’s enough to send Stiles back to Scott with a big, big smile on his face.

-

Lydia’s mama doesn’t complete the RSVP like everyone else’s mama or papa does. Stiles is nearly frantic about it for days, because Lydia had said maybe, and why couldn’t she come? Maybe she was busy? Could they change the date of his party?

His mama and papa look at each other in a way that Stiles knows is important, but he doesn’t know why, and he gets very sad all of a sudden. But then his mama is standing up and saying, ‘Don’t worry baby, I’ll give her mom a call and see if she can come or not.’

 

Stiles stands next to his mama’s leg as she calls, fidgeting too much to concentrate, and then she’s crouching down in front of him, saying ‘Sorry baby, Lydia can’t make it to your party.’

And Stiles can’t help the way his eyes fill up, even though he’s supposed to be a big boy now, because why doesn’t Lydia want to come? He’d never been mean or pushed her over or been too silly.

He gets caught up in a hug and his papa says that she’s probably just busy, but later he hears his mama tell his papa that Lydia just didn’t want to come. She says it sadly, and Stiles sniffles from where he’s hiding behind the toy house. He must have sniffled too loudly, though, because then his papa is there and carrying him, smoothing down his hair and telling him not to worry, some little girls just don’t like to play with little boys.

It’s enough to calm him down and send him to sleep, but he clings to his mama a bit too tightly when she drops him off at kindergarten the next day, and that Saturday, when all the other kids from his class come to his house, he spends too much time thinking about Lydia to have fun. He doesn’t even have ice-cream, at first.

It makes him sad, because Lydia is so lovely, and if someone as lovely as Lydia doesn’t like him, then there must be something wrong with him.

And even though his mama is lovelier than Lydia, the fact that she likes him doesn’t seem to make him feel much better.

He wonders if he’ll ever be good enough for Lydia. She never talks to him. He thinks he probably won’t be.

(2)

Stiles is eight when his mama dies. He doesn’t really understand why, though. His dad had sat him down and said some things, some big words that he didn’t quite understand. Stiles liked knowing things, wanted to know more, wanted to properly understand.

But his dad had looked so sad, so tired, so ill. So Stiles nodded along and said he understood even though he didn’t.

His mama got taken into hospital two months before she died. Apparently, being at home had been too ‘dangerous’, because she kept forgetting things like when there was something in the oven or when Stiles was in the bath, and she would leave the house in the middle of the night and walk in front of cars and she didn’t know what was happening a lot of the time.

His dad used to take him to see her in the hospital. He’d sit by her bed next to his dad and talk about things, anything he could think of, because his mama always said her favorite part of the day was when she’d hear about what Stiles had done.

He’d talk about his lessons and Scott and the games he played and the food he ate, and he talked about Lydia, and said, ‘But you’re still way prettier,’ and he’d smile and hope that what he’d said was enough. Because his mama always looked so scared, and before she’d gone into hospital, when Stiles talked for ages, she stopped looking scared, just for a bit.

But when she was in hospital, she didn’t stop looking scared, and she didn’t smile when Stiles called her pretty. She’d just look to his dad and say, ‘John, who is this?’ Stiles knew he shouldn’t cry, knew it wasn’t her fault, so he’d try to stay looking happy when she asked. Which she did. Every time he visited.

He’d just cry when he left her room.

A month before she died, his dad had sat him down and asked if he wanted to stay home, to not see his mama today. Because he hated to see Stiles so upset, and his mama wouldn’t want him to be upset.

And Stiles wept, because when he visited her, he was letting her down by getting upset. But if he didn’t visit her, wouldn’t that be letting her down more?

And when his dad saw how upset he was, he said, ‘It’s okay, bud, you can stay home today.’

Somehow, every time he’s due to visit, he thinks about who his mama is when he sees her, how much she’s changed, and it makes his tummy do flips and his heart ache in his chest, and he says that he’ll go next time, next time, always next time.

He didn’t realise his mama was going to die. He knew, but he didn’t realise.

And so one day, his dad came home much sadder than usual and sat him down and told him she’d died, and he cried, not only for his mama, but because he hadn’t gone back to see her, after the last time.

He’d let his mama down when he shouldn’t have, when she needed him the most, and he hated himself, because how much of a bad son was he? That he didn’t even go see his mama in the hospital?

No matter how much his dad tells him it’s okay, that he hasn’t done anything wrong, that his mama would’ve preferred he choose the way that he was happiest, it doesn’t stop the feeling building that somehow, his not being good enough had killed his mama.

He stands at her funeral by her grave and sends a thousand apologies to the sky for being such a terrible son, who wasn’t even good enough for his own mama.

(3)

Stiles is seventeen when he realises he’s useless to the pack.

There’s an attack on Beacon Hills, a rival pack from nearby, that can tell they’re maybe a little weak, that the land that was once fiercely defended by a clan of Hales is now defended exclusively by teenagers, save for Derek. At twenty-three, they don’t respect him any more than they do the others.

Stiles had been forbidden from coming with them the first time they faced off with the rival pack, despite his protestations. Derek had huffed grumpily at him, had crossed his arms and said ‘Until we know what we’re dealing with, you’re staying away.’

When Stiles looked to Scott for back up, he’d just shrugged, shoulders saying ‘he’s the alpha, dude,’ and Stiles had stormed back to the loft to wait for the fall out.

The rival pack were stronger than they’d anticipated, because three hours later, Stiles sees them stumble back into the loft, holding each other up and breathing heavily, injuries clear on their bodies.

 Stiles leaps up from the chair where he’d been sitting with his laptop and cautiously steps towards them as they filter in around him. Derek’s walking by himself, scratches across his face that are only just now starting to heal, and his shirt his ripped and stained red.

Scott and Isaac are holding onto each other, both bleeding from their arms, and Scott has blood running down his forehead, while Isaac winces with each step he takes on his left foot.

Boyd’s nose is running with blood and his head is bleeding, and he’s holding onto his side as tightly as he’s holding Erica close to him. Her hair is matted with blood and her make up is smeared across her face. There’s bruising all down her right arm and her wrist looks swollen. The scratches across her chest look just about healed, but they still look painful.

Stiles frets unhelpfully as they collapse onto seats around him, and he runs to the bathroom to grab the first aid kit, stopping to grab a rag and pour some water into a bowl. He darts back, and starts pulling out bandages and disinfectant, and he wets the rag and looks around him, with no idea where he’s supposed to start. Everyone’s tired and not paying much attention to him, so he goes towards Scott and presses the rag to the trail of blood on his forehead. Scott just huffs beneath him as he carefully starts cleaning it, but he stops when Scott’s hand comes to his wrist.

‘We’re okay, Stiles,’ he says, pulling his hand away. ‘We just need time to heal.’

Stiles steps back, feeling heat pool in his cheeks. He nods, sits back down next to his laptop. ‘What happened?’ he asks.

They’re all quietly recovering, but Derek answers, says, ‘They’re stronger than we thought, and they really want this territory. We retreated when we realised we couldn’t defeat them straight away, but we’re going to have to go back soon, come up with a different way of getting them out.’

Stiles nods, pulls open his laptop and starts researching ways they might be able to get rid of the pack. He’s got around eighteen tabs open when a notification pops up from the remote sensor he’d placed in the woods a few days ago. There’s a bunch of old notifications from when his pack had been fighting the rival pack, but this one is new, a few seconds old, and it’s not a deer or a bird or anything. It has to be a member of the rival pack.

Stiles looks around at his friends, his pack, his family. They’re bloody and defeated and lying more silently than they have done for months. His heart clenches, because they do not deserve this pain, do not deserve to have their land forcibly taken from them just because they’re a little weaker. They’re practically children.

He looks at the people who’ve already suffered so much, who should at least be able to not get attacked on their own land, and he makes a decision. He stands up, clears his throat. No one really notices him, but he sees Derek’s eyes drift open and meet his. ‘I’m going to go pick up some books I left at my house, they might have some information that could help.’

Derek’s eyebrows pull slightly in confusion, as if he can sort of see something’s up, but he doesn’t try to stop Stiles. The rest of the pack are even more out of it, not even slightly detecting the lie.

Stiles shoots them a goodbye wave, makes for the door, and races off in his jeep towards the woods.

-

He knows it’s a bad idea, instinctively. He’s not an idiot. Even as he’s pulling up next to the woods where the sensor is, he can practically feel Derek railing at him for doing this. But. He needs to do something. He needs to show them that he’ll do what he has to in order to defend his pack.

He’s got his bat in his hands, ready to raise hell, and hoping that they’ll falter, just a little, because he’s human. There are only four of them. It shouldn’t be too difficult, really.

He runs into them once he’s been walking for about five minutes, and he manages to get a few swings at the alpha, knocking her sideways, before he’s swung up by his ankles and thrown to the side. He loses his bat in the movement and falls, winded, after hitting a tree.

There’s growling nearby, coming closer, and as he tries to blink away the spots in his vision, he realizes that maybe this was a worse idea than he thought it would be.

He staggers to his feet just in time to get slashed across the chest with sharp claws, and he stumbles back against the tree, refusing to fall again. He balls his hands into fists and manages to swing at the attacker on his right, but ends up falling against the one in front of him, who grabs onto his neck and squeezes.

Stiles scrambles with his hands and gets a grip onto the wrist, trying to pull it away, completely in vain. There are figures on all sides of him, and he feels his neck pinch as a claw digs into his skin. He’s lifted, slightly, his toes scraping against the ground as his vision starts to go.

He lets out chokes, feels his lungs giving in, knows he’s not got much longer. He’s letting his eyes drift closed when an almighty roar comes out of nowhere. The hand is ripped away from his throat, scratching at his skin, and he collapses to the ground, clutching his chest and gasping, as all the figures focus their attention on the newcomer. The newcomer who’s had enough of a jump on the alpha to do her some serious damage, if the way she’s slumping against the ground is anything to go by.

The rest of the pack leap on the guy, teeth bared and claws swiping, and Stiles can hear a howl of pain that he recognises as Derek’s. Having recovered a little, Stiles pulls himself up until he’s sitting against that damn tree again, and it’s all he can do to watch what’s rest of the rival pack pull and bite and rip at Derek, as he fights back with all his might.

And then there are more snarls, as Stiles sees Scott and Boyd rush through the trees and join in the fight, and then Isaac and Erica are there, and they’ve got the advantage, finally, and there’s more sounds that Stiles doesn’t really want to be hearing, tearing flesh and breaking bones. The image in front of him is barely anything more than a tumble of bodies ripping each other apart.

Something must be different this time, though. Maybe it’s because Derek was able to get the alpha out of the picture early on, because after five minutes, the rest of the pack are pulling back, badly injured, and they limp away, reaching for their alpha and carrying her with them.

Derek’s defiant stance tells Stiles that they won’t be coming back, that his pack has won, and he feels reliefs spread through him.

It doesn’t last long though. Because once the rival pack are gone from sight, Derek slumps forward, his body radiating pain. His shirt is still stained from earlier, but this time cuts completely cover his bare arms, and his head is bleeding steadily. It’s the same for the others. They’re all panting and heaving and Stiles can make out so much blood and open wounds and seemingly broken bones.

They’re all silent for a few moments, until Derek snaps at him, ‘Get up.’ It’s gruff and angry, and Stiles feels it in his stomach. He scrambles to his feet and almost falls towards Derek, who steps to him, and looks at the slashes across his chest, runs his hands across the back of his head and torso.

His hands are brisk and cold, and Stiles feels five years old all of a sudden, getting told off by his dad for trying to find a missing boy by going out into the woods by himself to look for him.

His mama had cried, but his dad had been so angry, and even though his mama had explained that it was just because he was scared, somehow it didn’t make him feel any better.

Scott’s sympathetic look now doesn’t make him feel any better either.

Derek steps back, says, ‘You’ll be fine. Let’s go,’ and walks away, his words as abrupt as they were before.

Besides Scott, who hangs back to fall in step with him, none of the others take much notice of him as they limp back to where their cars are parked.

‘Take Stiles home,’ Derek barks at Scott, as the others climb into the Camaro. Stiles shrinks into himself once he’s climbed into the passenger’s seat, and he passes Scott the keys when he sits behind the wheel.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says quietly.

‘It’s okay, man. We’re just glad you’re okay.’ Scott actually smiles at him, and Stiles is so thankful that he has Scott for a best friend. He can tell Scott is a little annoyed, but it’s nothing like the searing anger coming from Derek.

As the Jeep pulls away, Stiles hopes that the werewolves in the other car heard him apologise too.

-

Stiles’ dad is out when he gets back, thankfully, and he pretty much falls into bed with exhaustion.

He resolutely does not cry, but he sure does come close.

Why had he gone out there? What did he think he was capable of? He’d never been the best in a fight, and to take on a whole pack by himself, with just a bat?

He’d wanted so badly to be useful, to be able to prove himself beyond just research. He’d hated the way he’d been told just to sit and wait, while all his friends went out to risk their lives.

His naivety had come with such a big price. Now, it wasn’t just that his friends were hurt. They were hurt because of him. It was his fault.

It was no wonder that he always got left behind. He couldn’t blame them. They’d probably been able to see how useless he was from the beginning.

Frustrated with himself, he punches the bed beneath him, just as someone clears their throat behind him.

He jumps up, wincing at the pain in his back, turning to see Derek standing next to the (now) open window.

His cuts are mostly healed, and he doesn’t look like he’s in pain. Stiles does his best to look sombre. Which isn’t much of a stretch. ‘Derek, I’m really-‘

‘Shut up, Stiles,’ Derek says, cutting him off.

Stiles swallows, sits up straight on the bed.

‘Are you kicking me out of the pack?’ he asks, tentatively, terrified of the answer. Even though he knows he wouldn’t be able to blame Derek if he did.

Derek, though, just looks confused. ‘What? Why would I do that?’

Stiles coughs. ‘I don’t know, maybe because I nearly got you all killed today?’

‘You’re not getting kicked out of the pack, Stiles. I came to ask you why you decided to do something so monumentally stupid.’

Stiles rubs at the back of his neck, because yeah, that’s fair enough. ‘I wanted to help. You were all so hurt, and I wasn’t. I thought I could do something.’

‘With a bat?’

And yeah, stupid. Stiles is stupid.

‘I didn’t mean for anyone to get hurt.’

‘Clearly.’ Derek sits on the edge of his bed. ‘What did you think would happen?’ his voice is softer now, and while Stiles should be grateful, he can’t help but feel babied.

Stiles doesn’t answer, so Derek continues. ‘You’re human. You can’t do things like that. You saw how the pack pulled a group of werewolves apart. We left you behind for a reason.’

Stiles huffs, feels tears pricking at his eyes. ‘Yeah, I know. Useless, worthless human, can’t do anything and hurts everyone around him every time he tries.’

Derek sighs, rubs his hands across his face. There’s exhaustion radiating from him, and the slump of his shoulders makes him seem so much younger. ‘That’s about the shape of it. No more fighting.’

He stands, goes towards the window, looks back at Stiles with one hand on the window ledge. ‘Get some sleep,’ and then he’s gone.

Stiles doesn’t, just lays in bed, replaying Derek’s confirmation that, of course, he isn’t good enough for the pack.

(4)

Stiles is eighteen when he receives his rejection from Stanford.

He’d applied to five colleges, because everyone said it was good to have backups, even if you weren’t 100% sold on them. Apparently, in the end, you always love wherever you end up. It’s just a case of ‘better safe than sorry.’

The thing is, Stiles pins all of his hopes on Stanford. Because he goes for a visit, and goes for an interview, and he falls in love with it, as much as it’s possible to fall in love with a campus. The proximity to Beacon Hills is a definite plus, and it’s just a good school. Something about it feels right when he visits.

And, well, maybe everyone expected him to go to Stanford. It was the closest, best college, and Stiles always did well enough at school that people kind of thought it was a sure thing.

His dad had looked over all of his choices, nodded, said, ‘they’re gonna be fighting over you kiddo.’

His guidance councillor had smiled and said ‘these all look like a good fit for you, Stiles. You’ll have your pick of them!’

Even Lydia had said ‘great, you’re going to follow me all the way to Stanford,’ before poking him in the ribs and smiling brightly at him.

Stiles may not have the best self-esteem, but even he starts connecting the dots, thinks this is almost definitely going to happen. He starts looking at accommodation, talking to possible future classmates on forums, even buys a fucking hoodie.

He completely forgets about his other college choices, gets acceptances from them and doesn’t give them a second thought, just an ‘oh, cool’, before moving on.

He calculates how long it would take him to drive home a couple of weekends a semester, whether there’s a place on campus for his Jeep, how much fuel he’ll need for trips around.

In Stiles’ head, it’s decided.

Which makes the rejection all the more heart-breaking.

It comes on a Friday, just before he’s about to go to Derek’s for a pack meeting. He’s just got his shoes on when there’s a ping from his computer. He’s halfway tempted just to ignore it and read the e-mail later, but something in him sits down to look.

He sees it’s from Stanford, and is already smiling as he opens it.

‘Dear Mr. Stilinski,

Thank you for your application to study with us at Stanford University. It is with regret that we must inform you that we will not be offering you a place this year.’

Stiles stops reading.

Stiles takes his shoes off. He gets into bed.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. He’s supposed to go to Stanford.

Suddenly he leaps out of bed again, to his laptop. He reads through the e-mail again, because what if there’s something at the end, some kind of ‘gotcha!’?

There isn’t. He feels stupid even as he closes the lid to his laptop, feels his cheeks start to burn, because god, he really must be stupid if he’d actually considered that for a moment. He rubs his hands across his face, feel his eyes start to well with tears, wills himself not to actually cry. Climbs back into bed.

His dad comes back about ten minutes later, briefly looking into his room and then double taking, walking back in.

‘Hey, I thought you were going to Scott’s tonight?’ he asks. ‘Everything okay?’

Stiles shakes his head, and his dad comes in, sits on the bed. ‘I heard from Stanford,’ Stiles says.

His dad perks, sees Stiles’ face, drops. ‘Oh. Bad news?’

Stiles nods. His dad reaches a hand out to comfort him, but then stops, and says, ‘Hold on, are you tricking me? Did you actually get in?’

There’s such hope in his eyes, and god, doesn’t that just make Stiles feel so much worse.

‘Sorry Dad. Stanford don’t want me,’ he says, shaking his head and trying to put his emotions on ice, just for a while.

‘Hey, what are you upset about?’ his dad asks. And why is his dad pulling him in for a hug? Oh right, Stiles is crying. Because despite Stiles hating being a disappointment, somehow that’s all he ever manages to be.

Stiles sniffs, buries his head in his dad’s shoulder. ‘I don’t know.’

His dad rubs his back soothingly. ‘Did you get into your other choices?’

Stiles nods, and in case the action is missed, says, ‘Yeah.’

‘Then what’s the matter?’

Stiles pulls back, running the back of his hand under his eyes. ‘I was supposed to go to Stanford.’ He pauses. ‘I was supposed to be good enough.’

‘Hey now,’ his dad says, taking a hold of his chin, forcing Stiles to look at him. ‘You’re not supposed to be anything, okay? You’re you, that’s enough.’

Stiles snorts, because that’s such a bullshit answer, and he feels bad as hell, because he’s the one who’s let his dad, school, self, down, and yet here his dad is, trying to make him feel better.

He doesn’t actually feel better, but he doesn’t want his dad to feel any worse, so he says, ‘Thanks, Dad.’

His dad smiles, rubs a hand through Stiles’ hair roughly, like he did when he was younger. ‘So what’s plan B?’

Stiles shrugs, feeling his heart start to ache again. Plan B. There was never supposed to be a Plan B. If he was good enough, they wouldn’t need one.

‘I’ll have to look into it,’ is what he says instead.

He ends up choosing Berkeley, tries to convince himself that it’s good enough. His dad looks at him proudly, and Stiles chooses to believe that his dad is proud, and not just pretending.

Lydia gets into Stanford. He tries not to beat himself up about it. She looks at him sadly, though. It cuts through him, the pity.

(5)

Stiles is twenty when Michael cheats on him.

He’d met him on the first day of his second year at Berkeley (which, okay actually turned out to be a pretty amazing university). They lived across the hall from one another in the apartment building he’s living in off-campus, and they hit it off straight away. Michael was funny, clever, charming, and attractive.

They were friends, at first. Movies, game nights, study sessions. Nothing happened until the second semester, when Michael crowded him into a wall at a party and kissed him, rough, soft, overwhelming. They’d fucked in a back room, hard and fast and not really all that satisfying, but Stiles had enjoyed the feeling of being wanted enough to accept a date with him that weekend.

They dated for three and a half months, and yeah, it was good. Michael was caring and attentive and they had fun on dates, even if there was always something distant about him. He never wanted to meet any of Stiles’ friends or family. Stiles thought that was okay, though. That would come with time.

Looking back, if he’s entirely honest with himself, he knew they weren’t going to last. There wasn’t really any spark. There was no connection that he felt, like he felt with -.

No point thinking about that.

After three and a half months of friendly dates and half-decent sex, it’s Michael’s birthday, and Stiles, like the great boyfriend he is, decides to make him breakfast in bed. He talks to Michael’s roommate, and Toby’s great, so he lends Stiles his key so he can surprise him in the morning.

At half eight, Stiles lets himself in, knowing full well that Michael sleeps like the dead and won’t be awake until nine. He treads carefully anyway, tries not to make too much noise as he pulls out a saucepan and a frying pan, setting them carefully on the stove.

He hears giggling coming from the bedroom, and he raises an eyebrow, confused. Because Toby’s away for the week, and Michael should be on his own. He follows the sound down the corridor, and his heart stops when he gets to Michael’s room, because it’s so clear that it’s coming from in there.

It’s not giggling anymore, it’s quieter, and Stiles’ heart is pounding as he grips the handle, almost too afraid to go inside. He steels himself, turns the handle, steps inside.

Sure enough, Michael’s naked, in bed, with a very petite, busty blonde girl straddling him. Who is also naked, and writhing, and neither of them seem to notice he’s there, because Michael has his head thrown back, eyes closed, and she’s too busy clinging to her own breasts to pay much attention.

The blood rushes from his face, and it’s all he can do just to stand there, gaping. That familiar coil is back in his chest, aching. And suddenly they’re both scrabbling on the bed, because they’ve seen him, and the girl climbs off and sits next to Michael, pulling the sheets up to cover them both.

At least they both look guilty. Stiles can only stare for a moment longer, as Michael’s mouth is opening and closing, trying to come up with some kind of explanation. Stiles doesn’t give him the chance, turns on his heel and speeds back to the door, ignores the ‘Stiles!’ that Michael calls out as he goes.

He wants to get away, but his apartment doesn’t seem far enough, so he grabs some clothes from his room and drives home to Beacon Hills.

The drive takes him about three hours, and they’re three horrible hours, because, despite playing the radio as loudly as he can, he can still hear his thoughts loud and clear.

As cliché as it is to say that college changes a person, Stiles believes it whole heartedly. He know he’s never been the best with his self-esteem, but he can honestly say that, since going to college, he’s gotten more confident. Michael, as much as he hated to admit it, had helped with that.

But this? This feels like a kick in the teeth. This feels like he’s four years old again, and Lydia’s not coming to his birthday party.

He thinks back to the last three months, thinks what he did wrong. What could he have done differently? Was he not enough fun? Not good enough in bed? Not attractive enough, not interesting enough, not smart enough? Why would Michael cheat, rather than leaving? How long had he been cheating for?

It starts to make Stiles feel sick, so he tries to block out his thoughts before he’s forced to pull over. He tries to focus on the music instead, turns the volume up as loud as it will go.

He’s proud to say he doesn’t cry, at least.

-

His dad isn’t home when he gets there. The house is empty, and while it’s comforting being in Beacon Hills, he doesn’t know what to do. The only person not away at college is Derek, and somehow, Stiles isn’t sure how much Derek would like to see him. He looks through the cupboards, checking to see if his dad is sticking to his healthy diet, and snorts at the Oreos and Pop Tarts. At least there’s fresh vegetables in the fridge.

He settles in front of the TV with a bag of popcorn, and after thirteen missed calls from Michael, he decides to turn his phone off. After twenty minutes of watching nothing and wallowing in misery, there’s a knock at the door. Sighing, Stiles stands, hoping desperately that he never gave Michael his home address.

Derek’s on the other side of the door, to his surprise, arms crossed over his chest and face set like stone.

Instead of saying, maybe, god, hello, he says ‘What’s wrong?’

Stiles rolls his eyes. ‘Hi, Stiles, how are you? Great to see you back in town! Can I come in for a bit rather than scowl at your front door for several minutes?’ He steps back anyway, and Derek comes in, shutting the door behind him, before following Stiles to the living room.

‘What’s wrong?’ Derek repeats, still standing as Stiles flops onto the couch. ‘Is there some kind of threat? Why aren’t you answering your phone?’

Stiles snorts. ‘Yeah, cos I came home after a supernatural threat and decided to take control of the situation by watching Toddlers and Tiaras.’

Derek scowls, finally sitting in the chair by the door. ‘Okay. Then why the unexpected visit in the middle of the week, even though none of your friends are here?’

‘Oh, so are you and me not friends anymore? That breaks my heart,’ Stiles says, clutching at his chest. He’s playing it off as a joke, being overdramatic because that’s who he is and that’s what he does, but even as he’s saying it, he can feel that curl back in his chest.

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ is what Derek says. ‘What happened?’

Stiles deflates, because he and Derek may not be best friends, but they are friends, and despite the joking, Stiles knows he cares.

‘Michael cheated on me.’

Derek’s jaw sets and his fists clench, and Stiles regrets telling him straight away, because he doesn’t want anyone’s pity, especially not Derek’s. He flaps a hand in front of his face, and says, ‘You don’t need to go killing anyone, wolfboy, it’s okay.’

‘No, it’s not. You know it’s not. Why would you say that?’

Stiles shrugs. ‘I just can’t really blame him, is all. You know, for wanting more.’

‘Don’t say that,’ Derek says defiantly. ‘Don’t defend him. This isn’t your fault.’

‘Sure, whatever.’

‘No, seriously. If he’s the type of guy to cheat, then he’d cheat no matter who he was with. This has nothing to do with you. He’s a dick.’

Stiles can only stare at Derek’s intensity, about how much he seems to care about this. It makes his heart thump heavily against his chest.

He wants to believe Derek, he really, really does. But as much as he wants to, he can’t. Because honestly, truly, really, would Michael have cheated if Stiles had been a good enough boyfriend? Stiles sighs, doesn’t want to argue with Derek about his self-worth, is 98% sure it would just end in his embarrassment.

Luckily, he doesn’t have to, because then there’s the sound of keys in the lock, and his dad calling out to him.

Derek is watching him as he rises, like he knows that Stiles doesn’t believe him, but doesn’t quite know what to say. Stiles shakes his head at him, because he really doesn’t want him to say anything, especially not in front of his dad.

Derek must sense a losing battle, because he sighs and goes to greet his dad as well, lingering close enough to Stiles’ back that he can feel the heat of him through his shirt.

He tries not to focus on the feeling.

(+1)

Stiles is twenty-two when Derek kisses him.

They’ve just come back from his graduation, and are all celebrating at Stiles’ house. He has a job lined up doing research at the community college, and an apartment not too far from his dad’s house that he can move into at the end of September. He’s not back to where he was before Michael cheated, but he’s a bit closer, doesn’t see himself as so much of a burden anymore.

Stiles is the last to graduate, so this is maybe their fifth celebration. It doesn’t stop Stile making the most of it though, stuffing his face with chips and dips, and maybe drinking too much beer.

He’s nowhere near drunk, just a bit loose, and he’s laughing as he goes to the empty kitchen to grab some more drinks. He hears the door swing shut behind him, and he turns to find Derek facing him, looking, what is that, apprehensive?

Stiles waves to him, and says, ‘Hey Derek, what brings you here?’

Derek steps forward, says, ‘I wanted to congratulate you. For graduating.’

‘Ah,’ Stiles replies, smiling. ‘Thank you, Derek.’

‘And I, uh,’ Derek fumbles with something in his hands, ‘wanted to give you this.’ He holds the object out to Stiles, and he can see now that it’s small and wrapped in blue wrapping paper, with a silver ribbon tied around it.

Stiles is genuinely surprised. As far as he knows, Derek hadn’t bought presents for any other members of the pack, and he takes it from Derek tentatively.

It’s definitely not a prank, as much as that small part of his brain tries to tell him it is. Derek looks far too sincere.

‘Wow. Thank you,’ he says, pulling at the paper with no finesse whatsoever. Inside is a small black jewellery box, and for a moment Stiles wonders if he’s going to get a proposal. When he opens the box, he’s not quite sure what he’s looking at.

It’s a mangled piece of metal. Just that. Maybe it used to be a key? Stiles picks it up and looks at it closely, squinting as he holds it close to his eyes.

Derek then says, ‘It’s a key. I found it when I renovated the house.’ Stiles moves his hand down and looks at Derek properly. ‘It was your mom’s. She and my mom were good friends, and she had a spare key. She left it at our house before… Well, before.’ He shrugs, and Stiles can see that he’s trying to act like this is no big deal, which is ridiculous, because this is a massive deal.

‘Derek…’ Stiles starts, not sure what he wants to say.

He places the box on the counter and closes his palm around the key. He reaches his other hand out to Derek and rests it on his forearm. ‘Thank you.’

Derek nods, smiles, looks down at Stiles’ hand on his arm. He moves his arm, and then their hands are touching, and Derek is moving his fingers, lacing them with Stiles’. He takes a step forward, and their joined hands fall to their sides as their eyes meet.

Stiles blindly places the key on the counter next to the box, and with his empty hand, reaches up and cups Derek’s cheek.

They’re the same height now, and close, so close, and Derek leans forward and rests his forehead against Stiles’. They breathe each other in for a few seconds, and Stiles is frozen, because he so wants to be reading this situation right.

And then Derek is leaning in further, and his lips are pressing briefly against Stiles’. It’s fast and dry and Derek is pulling back almost immediately, but Stiles stops him, pulling him back in and kissing him again. It’s slower and softer, and Stiles’ eyes drift closed as Derek moves a hand to Stiles’ waist, pulling him close.

Derek’s beard is catching at Stiles’ chin, and Stiles is holding onto Derek’s hand a little too tightly, and it’s still so innocent that it could be featured on the Disney Channel. And yet this is the best kiss Stiles has ever had.

It’s rooting itself inside of him, and the longer they kiss, the more grounded Stiles feels.

It feels so right.

Stiles doesn’t know how long it is before they’re pulling back, foreheads touching again, lips wet and eyes glazed.

He can’t read Derek’s expression, is suddenly frightened that he’s going to think this is all some kind of mistake, leave Stiles alone with nothing but a beautiful memory.

But then Derek smiles, lips splitting his face and his eyes singing, and Stiles feels so overwhelmed, because that smile is for him.

He laughs, presses another kiss to Derek’s lips, and reaches out for the key again. He tucks it into his pocket, resolves to find a chain to put it on so he can wear it round his neck, and tugs at Derek’s hand until he follows him back to the party.

The heat from Derek’s body is bleeding into his skin as they stand together, hand in hand, and Stiles feels so full he might burst. No one notices them together, not at first, and Stiles just lets the warmth of the night wash over him. Derek squeezes his hand, and Stiles turns to him, not able to resist pulling him in for another kiss.

He’s dizzy with it, this feeling, and this, he realises, is what he was missing with Michael. This this. This this.

**Author's Note:**

> The last four words are intentional and not at all a result of computer and/or brain freeze. Promise.  
> I suppose this is more of a Stiles character study with a minor Stereky ending. Will I ever write a full Sterek story? *magic conch voice*: Maybe some day!  
> I always really connected with the horrendously self-conscious aspect of Stiles' character, and thought it would be something worth trying out. Hope it came off okay!  
> I know there's no Derek sailing in to save the day, but I wanted Stiles to get to a point where he'd figured out his worth for himself. I'll stop talking now.  
> Swing by at slowunsteady.tumblr.com  
> A kudos or a comment would make my day, but thank you just for reading!


End file.
